Imaginary Hero
by Autumn Whispers
Summary: One-shot. In which America has the idea to become a hero. Includes Child!America and Protective!England, and major amounts of fluff.


So I was introduced to Hetalia during this year's Anime Boston convention (let me say that Prussia, you were _amazing_) and I've been hooked on it ever since. Watching the panel now is ten times funnier now that I get the jokes.

I also have a desperate love for England, and felt the need to write this. And Chibi!America is _so_ cute, though I didn't read the "Battle for America" strip until _after _I wrote this. I know I get a lot of the facts wrong here, but let's just count that as my warping the story to fit my desires, yes?

For you, Lali (you know who you are, tee hee) because without you bringing me to Anime Boston and to that panel (actually, it was more like _me _dragging _you _there), I would not have the obsession for Axis Powers Hetalia like I do now. _huggles you to death _

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It was the early hours of the morning, where the sun was just starting to peak over the horizon and send lazy threads of light through the trees. It was the early hours of the morning, where most people were sleeping, but a boy with sandy blonde hair was already wide awake, slipping out from under his covers, flinching when his bare toes hit the hardwood floor.

The boy, named Alfred, giggled gleefully when he realized that his older brother, Arthur, was still asleep. He loved it when he was the first one up; it gave him the chance to slip into Arthur's room, creep up to the bed, and pounce on Arthur, startling him awake. It was usually his favorite thing to do on days like this, but today he decided not to. He wanted to go out and _explore_.

Running with this newfound plan, he sprinted as quietly as he could into the bathroom, grabbing the biggest towel he could find. He then hurried back to his bedroom, getting dressed in his favorite clothes before going into the kitchen, where he grabbed a wooden spoon Arthur usually used for cooking (it was a bit charred around the edges and had a few dents near the handle).

Not bothering to tell Arthur where he was going, he grabbed everything and ran out of the house, shutting the door with a _snap_. There he was met with the entire outside world: his backyard, and beyond that, a forest thick with trees and other mysteries. Alfred tied the towel around his neck like a cape, readjusted his grip on the spoon, and marched bravely into the woods.

To Alfred, who had never been into the woods before, it was amazing. There were small creatures, rabbits and squirrels scampering off at every step he took towards them, away in holes or up trees, the birds singing and yelling, flying overhead. Alfred was grinning ear to ear, bouncing with every step he took with his small feet. He ran and tried to catch the branches in his tiny hands, waving his arms around and yelling excitedly. The sun cast interesting shapes on the ground, and he tried to distinguish animals and other things in them like he did with the clouds.

He positively shrieked with delight when he came across a small clearing. There were beautiful flowers in purples and yellows scattered all around the grass like splotches of paint, and a crowd of rocks off to one side. He ran over to the biggest boulder he could find, tripping over his impromptu cape and climbing the stone, raising his arms over his head and shouting when he got to the top.

To an adult, a rock like the one Alfred was standing on wasn't big at all. But to a five-year-old, the view was incredible. Alfred felt like he was on top of the world. Clutching at his wooden sword, he yelled out in his childish voice, "I'm the king of the world!"

But the king of the world didn't sound at all fun. It sounded rather boring. From what Arthur told him, kings were _always _busy and spent their time making long speeches and sitting in hot, stuffy rooms wearing those shiny shoes and _ties _Arthur always forced him into on special occasions. He wanted to do something _awesome_. So he changed what he said next.

"I'm a hero!" Yes, a hero sounded good. A hero would always protect anyone that was in danger, and they always were loved by their people. They were famous and _awesome_. "I'm a hero! I'm a hero!" he shouted over and over, raising his stick over his head, pretending it was a wooden sword, fighting off invisible foes. He then jumped from rock to rock, screaming, "Take that! And that!"

He was having so much fun that he didn't even notice the sun sinking lower and lower into the sky, and when he realized that it was time to go back home, he looked around, not remembering which way he came.

So, as all five-year-olds do in a situation like this, he said down, crying softly. "Arthur! Arthur, help me!" he sniffed. He was completely and utterly lost.

It wasn't long after that when he heard a muffled yell. Then two. It was getting closer, and closer. Alfred clutched the wooden stick to his chest, wrapping the towel closer to himself. He pressed himself against the rock.

"…Alfred!" he heard softly. He perked up. Was someone calling his name? "Alfred, where are you?"

Arthur. It was his older brother Arthur! He cried out, "Arthur! Arthur! I'm over here!" over and over again.

Someone was running through the forest as fast as he could, and he hoped to god it was Arthur, and then a flash of dark blonde hair appeared through the trees, and Arthur was _there_, in front of him, looking horribly mad and relived both at the same time. Alfred ran over, clutching at his older brother's legs for dear life, sobbing so hard he dropped the sword.

Arthur picked him up, pressing him close, and he scolded, "Where in the _world_ have you been? I woke up to find your bed empty and you nowhere in sight! Haven't I told you not to go in the forest?"

And Alfred, through his tears, cried, "I'm a hero, Arthur! Look!" He showed him the towel and the spoon ("You used my good cooking spoon as a _sword_?" "Your _good _cooking spoon, brother?") he had once dropped. And Arthur pressed him close, hugging him too hard, but Alfred didn't care that his lungs were being squished nor did he comment on how Arthur's eyes were all red and puffy and wet.

Pulling away, Arthur asked, "Are you hungry?" and was met with an eager nod. He chuckled softly, and said, "Come on. I've got scones waiting."

Alfred made a face, mumbling something about scones being disgusting.

Arthur let out a sigh. "I'm only kidding. Come on; let's get out of here, all right?"

And they walked out of the forest together, Alfred's soft and small hand in Arthur's big, rough one.

It was the late hours of the evening, where twilight seeped out, sucking the cheery sunlight out of the day. It was the time of day where the moon rose up and dark shadows crept out from dark corners, scaring children and adults alike. But Alfred figured that since Arthur was there, holding his hand as they walked, not even the shadows could frighten him.

End.

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I prolly shouldn't have started/finished this when I'm so close to going to China (will be visiting during the summer, yes, I'm so excited) but I can't help myself, aru. _is shot _And Lali, your email was eating at me and I couldn't put off posting this.

The "being king of the world wouldn't be fun because you have to wear icky ties" sounds like America is talking about England talking about himself. Tee hee, oh Alfred, how I love you.

...Hm. It kind of seems unfinished as well, but completely done at the same time. It's getting to me, _eating my brain away_ the fluff, the fluff!


End file.
